


Refuge

by chelseagirl



Series: Ella [10]
Category: Alias Smith and Jones
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Married Sex, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-29 00:54:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17797994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chelseagirl/pseuds/chelseagirl
Summary: Missing/expanded scenes from chapter 4 of "Interlude in New Orleans" -- Ella is devastated to learn her client is going to hang; she turns to Heyes for comfort.





	Refuge

Ella just stared at him, blankly. “The verdict came down today, and the judge pronounced the sentence right afterwards. Remy Leroux will hang on Friday.”

“Sorry to hear it,” Heyes responded. “I know how much you put into this case.”

She shook her head, an expression of bleak despair on her delicate features. “What was the point of it all? We did our best. We found a thousand reasons why he wasn’t responsible for his actions. And in the end, nothing changed.”

“A damn shame,” he muttered.

“Remy asked that we be there on the day, to bear witness. All of us – Goncourt, Marie-Elise, and me. It’ll be on Friday. And somehow, I’ve got to get through til then without going completely mad.”

“Too bad you don’t drink.”

She frowned. “You mean alcohol? I drink alcohol.”

“Yeah, a ladylike glass or two of wine or sherry. I mean blind drunk, so you don’t have to remember the days you’ve got to get through.”

Despite herself, she laughed. “Can you imagine that? Me?”

He laughed, too. “No, not really. I remember that one time you got tipsy on Rick’s birthday. You were adorable. But it was pretty clear there wasn’t gonna be a repeat performance.”

“I don’t want to think,” she said. “Only to feel. Can you help me with that?”

“Of course.” He drew her close, so that she could feel his breath on her cheek. “It’s Wednesday, now, so two nights and a day. I think I can keep you occupied.”

The dress she’d worn to court that day had a high neck, with tiny buttons down the back. When she reached back to undo them, he gently took her hands away, and, slipping behind her, unbuttoned each one, slowly, kissing her neck gently as he went, and then following the line of her spine, on bare flesh and then through the thin fabric of her chemise. As he went lower and lower, and the bodice of her dress was loosened, he slid it down, off her shoulders. She obligingly moved her arms as he pulled the sleeves downward, freeing her arms.

She turned around and slid her newly bare arms round his neck, and this time she pulled him forward, into a kiss. It was deep and hungry, as though she was trying to erase the boundaries between them, and he felt his desire stirring.

But he was going to draw this out as long as he was able. They’d always had a deep physical connection. Even from the beginning, when neither could bring themselves to admit exactly what they were feeling, their bodies had been in synch, hungry for one another. Through the routines of married life, they’d grown used to sharing a bed, to reaching for each other in the middle of the night. And since, although they were profoundly different people, they were oddly similar in that both were able to talk themselves out of or around nearly anything, it was often in the marriage bed that they worked out their differences, wordlessly. 

But with the intimacy of married life came certain shortcuts. He hadn’t undressed her properly in quite some time – her nightdress was far less elaborate than the layers upon layers of garments she wore on a daily basis. He turned his attention to the matter at hand. A ribbon at the neckline, and then another set of tiny buttons, these on her corset cover, a prettily embroidered camisole that kept the boning of her corset from showing through her outer layer. He kissed her collarbone as he pulled the fabric aside, and then pulled it gently over her head.

“Hair down?” she asked, with a smile.

“Corset first,” he responded, and began to unfasten the restrictive garment. She never complained about it, except for a few times when she’d fallen asleep wearing it, but then he didn’t truly understand the mysteries of women’s undergarments anyhow. Her breasts had grown a bit fuller since having Rachel, and he cupped one through her chemise, enjoying both the soft feel and her gentle moan of pleasure.

He loosened her skirts, and they fell to the floor, and now he unfastened her bustle frame (again, the mysteries of women’s undergarments . . . but how pretty the outward effect!) and the multiple petticoats she wore to give her skirts body. She still wore her chemise, drawers and stockings, but he gave himself a rest from the laborious undressing and just looked at her, admiring what he saw. But he couldn’t help think that it wasn’t a wonder that more women didn’t follow in her footsteps and pursue careers—the wonder was that with all this dressing, they managed to do anything else at all.

“Hair down,” he said now, having learned to his cost that any interference in the removal of the various pins and clips that held her hair in place only led to confusion. She was deft at the unpinning, dropping pins and clips one by one into a saucer by the bedside . . . so many, to hold her very long, slippery-fine hair into a fashionable hairstyle. As she shook it out, he marveled at its softness, its color (several shades lighter than the Kid’s), the way it fell down, down, down her back, and he reached out a hand to stroke it.

She looked exhausted, there was no doubt, and in that exhaustion, he could see the fine lines around her dark blue eyes that were usually indiscernible. But still he found her lovely, always so lovely. He thought about the women he’d encountered in the past, some of them stunningly beautiful and some merely pretty—and how the clever ones were always out for themselves, the sweet ones always needing something he couldn’t give, while the rest merely provided professional services, no matter how enjoyable for both parties. How then, while he was sitting in a jail cell, a lovely, bright woman who’d needed exactly nothing from him had marched into his life, with no intention of anything but doing her job and getting him and his partner released. How his life had never been the same, now that he looked back on it, from the very moment he’d first seen her. 

And now his feelings began to overcome him, lust and love mixed as they’d always been (though in the beginning he foolishly had thought it might merely be desire and friendship). He slid off her stockings, caressing her inner thighs with his lips and tongue as he did so, and then her drawers and her chemise, and he stared for a moment at her naked body. Though so familiar to him now, it still was so beautiful, and he found himself caressing her breasts, with their pink nipples hard with excitement, and kissing his way from them down her belly to her lovely pink nether place. He used his tongue to explore her, to find and stimulate her nubbin, and he felt her tighten, her breathing so hard, and he licked and licked as she began to moan uncontrollably. Finally she came, crying out so loudly he was sure for a moment the hotel staff would come banging on the door, certain someone was being murdered.

And then, for awhile, all was quiet.

She lay in afterglow, admiring the lean, strong physique of the man who held her in his arms. She laughed a little to think of how quickly he’d thrown his clothes off after the long, elaborate process of undressing her—though she’d enjoyed every moment of that, especially the way he’d stopped so often, to explore her with his lips and tongue. And then she fell asleep, her exhaustion taking hold now that he’d succeeded so well in helping her relax.

When she awoke, it was still dark. He was snoring gently, looking unusually vulnerable, and she couldn’t help but reach up and run her hand through his thick, dark hair, which as usual, probably needed cutting. She liked it like that. His deep brown eyes were closed, but she admired his cheekbones, his heavy dark brows, the vague dimpling as he smiled in his sleep, that ridiculous and adorable nose. His chest was bare, and she explored the smooth pale skin sprinkled with dark hairs, with her lips and tongue, before settling on his nipples. But he showed no signs of waking. Giving up on getting a response, she snuggled up against him and drifted back off into dreams, more peaceful ones than she’d had in quite some time.

The next time she woke up, it was to the soft feel of lips on her face, neck, and breasts. She could tell, from the light creeping in around the drawn curtains that it was morning now, but she didn’t care. He was kissing her gently, but as he felt her stirring to wakefulness, he became more urgent. She felt his erection, firm against her leg, and remembered how he’d been so attentive to her pleasure, earlier, that he’d ignored his own needs. As his lips returned to hers, she returned the kisses, softly at first, and then deepening, as she slid her arms around his neck.

And now he entered her. They’d been building to this for so long, that she thought for certain he wouldn’t last, but they found a gentle yet intense rhythm, their bodies working together, as he thrust himself inside her, firmly but not too hard. She was so wet, so hungry for him, and as he filled her, she pushed back against him, wanting, wanting, wanting. And then with a low moan, rising as he came closer and closer, she could feel him shuddering, and finally climaxing.

He slid off her, his head falling back on the pillow, and lay there, fully spent.

She rolled away from him, looking outward from the bed and catching her breath. But in a moment, she heard, “Where you goin’?”

He moved towards her, from behind, and reached around, stroking her hip, sliding across her belly, back to her still-wet sex, and he explored her with his fingers. She was soaking wet, and his fingers slid around and across her clitoris as she moaned with joy. Small explosions, again and again, until finally a climax that rocked her entirely.

Sated, she fell back into his arms. He stroked her hair for a little while, but then the movement stopped, and from the steady sound of his breathing, she could tell he’d fallen asleep once again, and soon she’d drifted off, too.

The next time she woke up, she sat up with a start.

“Whassamatter?” he asked, blurrily.

“Rachel,” she said.

“Donworryhoney,” he muttered, then after a moment, roused himself awake enough to speak more articulately. “I told Gloria to tell Rachel that Mommy and Daddy weren’t feeling well, and needed their rest today.”

“But still,” she said. She stood up and fetched a robe, which she put around her, but when she caught sight of herself in the mirror, she realized how disheveled her hair was, after all that rolling around in bed. She realized that she must smell of their lovemaking, intensely so, and it hardly seemed right to be seen by anyone but her husband in her current state.

“You’re so very beautiful,” he said, coming up behind her, and slipping his arms around her, eyeing where the silk robe had slipped open a bit, to expose most of one breast. “I wish we could just stay like this forever, but you’ve worn me out for a little bit.”

“Just for a little?” she asked, teasing. “I may never walk again.”

“Then my job here is done.” He grabbed his trousers and a shirt, pulled his boots on over sockless feet, and returned shortly with a couple of muffins and some coffee for them. The bath arrived in due course, and once she’d made herself respectably presentable, they went to find Rachel, who according to the desk clerk, had gone with Gloria to play in a local park.

He’d also arranged, discreetly, to have the linens changed, so that night, when Rachel indicated she’d like to stay with her parents, there was no reason they should say no. After their exertions of the previous night and day, they would likely have remained chaste in any case.

They sat up in bed, their small sleeping daughter between them. In contrast to the previous night, Ella was decorously arrayed in one of her lacy white nightgowns, while in place of his usual longjohns, Heyes had dug out a pair of heavy silk pajamas his wife had given him, long ago and before she’d realized it was pointless. They’d come in handy a few times at Mac’s, so he’d kept them in the luggage he travelled with, not with the things they’d stored back at Mac’s place in Texas.

“Be nice to have another like her,” he said, “wouldn’t it? Or maybe a boy, next time?”

She sighed. “I’m not . . . trying not to. You know I, um, researched methods of, well, not. But I haven’t used any of them since I had Rachel. I thought you’d have noticed.”

“Yeah,” he said. “I know. I have. Just thinkin’ aloud.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I think I’m not . . . very . . .” The word fertile went unsaid.

“It’s you I want. You know that. Anyway, you and Rachel are more’n enough trouble as it is.” He winked at her.

She laughed. “Yes, and having a pair of notorious ex-outlaws in my home never brings any problems along with it.” But then she turned serious. “I don’t think I’m going to sleep much tonight.”

He looked ruefully at their sleeping daughter. “I guess I could carry her back to Gloria’s room?”

She gave him a fond glance, and then looked at the little girl herself. “I think we’ve just about worn ourselves out, and it’s a comfort to have her here. But could you tell me a story, like you do for Rachel?”

“Outlaw bears or talking alligators on trial? You feature prominently in the second, and you always win.”

“Tell me . . . tell me about the biggest con you ever pulled off. Something you haven’t told me before because you wonder if I might think less of you.”

“Promise you won’t use it against me when you’re mad?”

“Promise,” she said, holding up both hands so he could see she hadn’t crossed any fingers.

And so he did, though she never heard the ending of it, because by the time he got there, his deep, husky voice had long ago lulled her to sleep.

###

He insisted on going with her, to the site of the execution. They’d promised the condemned, Remy Leroux, that they’d be with him at the end, all of them: Henri Goncourt, the lawyer; Marie-Elise Dumont, the interpreter, and Ella. They held eye contact with him, to show him that someone cared, that someone would be with him in his final moments in this world.

When the officials hooded him, just prior to slipping the noose around Remy’s neck, and he could not see them anymore, Marie-Elise began to say the Lord’s Prayer in French, over and over, so that he would hear that she was still there, and soon Goncourt and Ella had joined in. _Notre Père qui es aux cieux, que ton Nom soit sanctifié, que ton règne vienne, que ta volonté soit faite sur la terre comme au ciel . . . ._

Heyes rested his hand protectively on his wife’s shoulder, but he remained silent, knowing neither the language nor Leroux. He thought, irresistibly, how close he, how close the Kid, could have been to a fate like this themselves.

Afterwards, Ella didn’t speak another word except to say brief goodbyes to the other members of the legal team. Marie-Elise expressed her intention of calling on Ella at her hotel in a day or two, and she nodded in confirmation.

They arrived back at the hotel, and knocked on Gloria’s door. Rachel ran to them, and Ella settled into an armchair with the girl on her lap, for a time, not speaking. Then, gently but without a word, she set her daughter down, and went back to her own room. Heyes remained behind to speak with Gloria for a moment, and by the time he’d gotten to the room, Ella had already pulled the blinds down and the curtains closed, and was considerably further along with being undressed than anyone wearing that many layers had any right to be in that amount of time.

She looked at him and simply said, “Please.”

He pulled off his own clothing, tossing it on the floor in his haste, even though it was his good suit and he’d have to send it to be pressed later. Then he assisted her with the final stages of her own undressing, pulling her shift off over her head, and, this time, helping her pull out the pins to let down her hair.

This time there was little in the way of kissing or caressing. He let her take the lead, as she clung to him to ease the hurt she felt over her failure to save Remy. It was clear that she wanted him inside her, and he was soon ready. There was none of the gentleness of the other day; she wanted it hard and fast, and she kept thrusting to encourage his own.

Their lovemaking had often been passionate and inventive, but never had it been this intense, this ungentle. He came, but he could see she was not ready to give over yet, so he serviced her with lips and fingers, also harder than usual, ‘til her coming stimulated him. Then he thrust into her again, harder, faster, harder, faster, more, until he came again, and this time she with him. Their sweat-slicked bodies close together, they lay exhausted in each other’s arms.

And then, and only then, she wept.


End file.
